


Sailors take warning

by feyrelay



Series: Red Sky at Morning, Sailors Take Warning [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha Clarke Griffin, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Arranged Marriage, Breathplay, Breeding, Discrimination, F/F, F/M, Femdom, Genetic Engineering, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Moodboards, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Bellamy Blake, POV Alternating, Pegging, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Strap-Ons, The 100 (TV) Season 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-12 05:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19222162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyrelay/pseuds/feyrelay
Summary: Survival is a team sport. Too bad, there's no one left on Team Clarke.Well, there's the child (ew), and Bellamy, but he's just a red-blooded Omega; Josephine has no use for him.





	1. Clarke POV

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tangodoodles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangodoodles/gifts).



> This fic has a kickass playlist, [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4C59oX092IVUcKM765HoUX?si=HgKhtAAjRwK586kkRnaNhw).

_“_ _Hello again, friend of a friend, I knew you when_

_Our common goal was waiting for the world to end_

_Now that the truth is just a rule that you can bend_

_You crack the whip, shape-shift and trick the past again_

 

_Send you my love on a wire_

_Lift you up, every time, everyone pulls away_

_From you.”_

— Black Sheep - Metric 

 

 

Clarke Griffin dies alone.

Her mother used to tell everyone on the Ark that she was a perfect, angel baby. Abby frequently said that, as a doctor, she’d felt the long, anxious stretch of time at Clarke’s birth before her baby had cried. Clarke had, apparently, been determined to be silent until old Doc Hamilton had given her a little jumpstart. And then, as she’d grown (Abby had liked to say) Clarke rarely cried, rarely sulked, and made fast friends with other children like Wells and Glass and oh, what had that other girl’s name been, the one who caught that awful flu?

It doesn’t matter now, as the dark blinks at her and she can do nothing but let it. Clarke’s friends are not here. Clarke’s mother is not here. She does not command Death, after all.

Clarke cries.

And when she wakes, Josephine starts the way a dying woman does, all screams and crazy eyes.

Moments pass and one of those things eases.

***

It happens like this, in a series of mundane mistakes:

Clarke means to leave Madi in cryo until they can be sure of what they’re walking into, but Raven can’t hold onto her anger with Abby and her mother breaks down in Clarke’s arms after exchanging harsh words with the mechanic. She sobs her regrets into the leather of Clarke’s jacket and breathes, “I should never have let us be separated.”

After that, it’s decided that Madi will come with them on the first expedition. Whatever trouble they face, they do it together, as a family… although Abby is forced to stay behind and tend to Kane. Murphy tells Clarke later that her daughter had had sense enough (or maybe, the artificial ‘wisdom of the Commanders’ enough) to hunker down and hide from everyone during the red sun. Clarke is grateful for that, and grateful that her child hadn’t had to see Clarke struggling with whether or not she should kill herself.

Bellamy asks her, in a brief aside, what _nomon_ means in Trig. (‘Mother’.)

Clarke tries not to wonder why Echo hadn’t already taught him such a basic word when he knows so many others, but. Mothers are a sore subject for Bellamy, she knows. Maybe Echo had known it, too.

She only has a moment to wonder anyway, because she asks where he heard it and he says, “I thought I heard Madi saying it, when I was… under the influence. Before she ran.”

As she tries to assimilate that information, Bellamy adds, quietly, “Do you think she was hallucinating you, or her birth mother?”

Clarke’s not sure which would be worse.

***

They barely have time for that brief catastrophe before the next one hits.

Bellamy’s blood is spilling from Clarke’s gift of a leg wound, red and ordinary. Clarke, for her part, is sporting a slashing hesitation wound at her throat, where she’d almost done it. It’s small, but inky, judging by the stain that comes away on her fingertips.

Bellamy’s eyes are wide and dark as he appears to skip right over her self-inflicted injury to focus on the lingering press of quickly smudging fingerprints against her throat, his. His body language warns of an incoming apology.

There’s no time, because Madi is scared, peeking around a corner before she runs to Clarke.

There’s no time, because Raven is here and Clarke's not sure if she knows about Shaw yet.

There’s no time, because there’s a severe-looking interloper with them and a passel of children (actual, pre-pubescent, non-combat ready _children_ ) and Clarke has to steady herself for the coming inquisition.

Murphy dies, then doesn’t, and it jangles her nerves. The black in his veins and the fruitless way Abby attempts to save him reminds her of nothing so much as Lexa, which happened more than a hundred years ago and yesterday.

The man whose brisk, commanding tone and gift of the miracle snake saves Murphy, well. He gets Clarke’s dander up. He reminds her of Kane before Kane could be trusted, and a bit of the old President under the Mountain, Wallace. She exchanges this thought, unspoken, with Bellamy over Madi’s head. She sees his agreement, sees him turn and pass it along to Echo who must also remember the mountain in much the same way they do.

Clarke reminds herself to judge not, lest she be judged; it’s a saying from the old religious-cultural texts that they’d been shown on the Ark in Pre-Event History class.

Under his breath, Bellamy mutters something to Echo that Clarke can barely make out, though Octavia is closer and mouths the words ‘serpent’ and ‘garden’ before Clarke’s attention is brought back to the commanding man who is asking her name.

“Clarke Griffin,” she replies, matter-of-fact, “... what’s yours?"

The well-dressed woman at the left-hand of her apparent leader (husband?) goes to step forward and speak angrily, but she is stopped. Instead, the older man introduces himself as Russell Lightbourne, shooting his entourage an unreadable look, before he asks a question that throws even Clarke for a loop.

“And your family? Their names are…?” he inquires, gesturing to where Bellamy stands slightly in front of Madi, protective.

“This is my daughter,” Clarke says carefully, in the same moment that Bellamy steps forward and to the right, blocking the girl more fully from view, and divulges, “Her name is Madi.”

Clarke manages a half-turn, meaning to silently warn Bellamy off giving away too much information, before Russell expands his line of inquiry.

“I suppose it’s invasive of me to ask, but did she inherit her father’s red blood? I don’t mean to pry so early on in our relationship Mr. Griffin, but it’s important for me to know, as a leader. The black-blooded are very sought-after by our enemies, and I’d hate for our new alliance to be strained by my inability to keep your wife and daughter as safe as possible. We take the security of Primes very seriously, here in Sanctum, but it’s hard to do if we don’t know what we’re looking out for.”

Clarke knows her face has gone bloodless, devoid of black, red, or any other color. She finishes her turn, keeping her expression from their new acquaintances and waits to see what Bellamy will do. It’s not that she wouldn’t prefer to take the lead, but she doesn’t want to accidentally get him caught in a lie if their strategies diverge. (She doesn’t know him as well as she used to, she fears.)

Bellamy seizes on the odd bit of information, appearing to stall for time with Echo frozen at his side. “Mister… Griffin, did you say? Uhm, I didn’t realize you had a matrilineal system here. You’ll have to forgive us as we adjust to your customs; please call me Bellamy for now.”

Murphy, thankfully, is silent and still recovering from his ordeal.

Madi, unfortunately, chooses that moment to speak. “I didn’t inherit anything from him…”

Russell claps his hands and Clarke spins again to clock his delighted expression, even as she wonders how they’ll extricate themselves from this turn of events. Before she can start in on damage control, she feels Madi take her hand and squeeze.

“Fantastic,” their new overlord says, with a Cheshire grin. “We’ll get you settled in the Sky District right away, after we get you and your people some medical attention and some food. Unless there’s an issue? I wouldn’t want to rush things if you’d rather stay outside the shield.”

Madi tugs on Clarke’s hand with a miniscule amount of pressure, just enough to get her to notice the view in the corner of her eye as she pretends to push her hair out of her face with her free hand. Bellamy has taken Madi’s other hand, bracketing her daughter between them, and past him is a small group of guards whose collective stance has not yet relaxed, awaiting her answer.

“No, there’s no problem,” Clarke answers, hoping that time will not prove her wrong on that particular point.

(It does.)


	2. Bellamy POV

_“_ _I gotta let you know_

_I don't need you anymore_

_I gotta let you know_

_I don't need you anymore_

_I'm all right_

_I'm all right_

_But, it's time to close the door_

_I gotta let you know_

_I don't need you anymore.”_

_\---_ I Don't Need You Anymore - The Dig

 

The thing about pretending to be Madi’s father, is that it should be hard.

(It’s not.)

It does, however, bring up old memories of ferrying Octavia around their small living space. She’d shrieked like a goddamned monkey; they’d intimately known the work schedules of their closest neighbors, all of them living and sweating and dying in such close proximity.

Madi, by contrast, is so quiet. Measured. Attentive. (Lexa.)

Bellamy watches as what must pass for a nurse around here draws her blood. He wouldn’t have expected her to flinch or cry, nothing like that, not Clarke’s daughter. However, what strikes him is the lack of _questions._  She doesn’t ask what they’re taking their blood for, or the attendant’s name, or _anything_. Octavia at that age would’ve had to be gagged, so starved had she been for human interaction.

So, this is where _he_ comes in, then.

“I’m sorry, uh, but what is all this _for_? Surely, you don’t need that many-”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Griffin, but I’ll be finished in a moment.”

 _Great,_ he thinks sarcastically. _So informative._  He has no preference for either Echo being there or Clarke, he just wishes one of them were around. Echo’d beat it out of the man, and Clarke would not only do that but probably make the man wish he’d never been born, via verbal dressing down.

Plus, Clarke should be with her daughter.

Instead, he’d watched as she’d done the first blood draw, questioning why she needed a test since her blood was visibly black. The female nurse had been about to answer the question when the computer had beeped and her eyes had gone wide; she’d absconded with Clarke so fast it had made Bellamy’s head spin and his stomach uneasy. Clarke had looked back just as the door shut between them and her eyes had cut to Madi, the message clear. _Behave, for her sake._

He’d felt that door slam like a hole in the head, but that was immaterial. He had his orders.

Soon, Madi’s done, and the chair lets her up with a _click,_  restraints’ purpose served. The computer had made a similar beep, he’s careful to notice, after finishing its process with the girl’s blood, but the male nurse had just shaken his head, muttering, “Too young.”

Whatever that signified in the long run, it also meant Madi was allowed to stay here with him. Bellamy would take those odds, especially after they finally bring in Murphy as soon as Bellamy’s sat in the chair.

He also notices Murphy _wave_ at Madi, playing at the dopey, loving uncle. The motion of his hand is loose, flappy, like a bird’s wings.

That must mean Raven’s right outside the door, and Bellamy feels a deep, strategic calm wash over him even as the needle goes in for his blood draw. (Strength in numbers.)

When the computer makes a different sound this time, though, he can’t say he’s surprised. He’s used to being _other,_  outside the circle. Besides, he can see the long, dark crimson line of the tubing from here; it’s a deep color, but clearly red and not black. What were they expecting?

( _Jus drein, jus daun._ )

The problem is, the magnetic wrist locks aren’t unlocking. He’d thought they were, but it’s the door instead, opening for an orderly who takes Murphy and Madi each by the shoulder, grasp visibly firm.

The door Clarke went through opens as well, even as Madi and Murphy are taken back out into the hall they’d come in through. And, thank God, it’s Clarke that comes through it. She’s okay, though her wrist is bandaged when he knows they took the blood closer up by her elbow, and it sets his hackles to rising.

She’s settled into the empty chair opposite him, the one that the nurses had conspicuously _not_ availed themselves of.

He knows something’s wrong when she doesn’t even look around for Madi, eyes fixed on his, jaw tight.

“Please, don’t scream,” she says gently. “We can get through this, together.”

Her voice is soft but she sounds in pain, to Bellamy. He always knows, and not just for her, either. It’s hard to describe to someone who doesn’t know what ‘pain’ (or ‘sick’, or ‘tired’, or ‘hungry’) _sounds like,_  but his mother had always understood and appreciated it when he’d known just what to do for baby Octavia.

He doesn’t know just what to do now, though. “I’m sorry, Bellamy, but please, it’ll be over in a minute,” Clarke re-iterates, and that helps minutely. Her eyes flicker to something behind him, but everything in her voice is telling him not to freak out, so he doesn’t look.

He’s glad, later, that he hadn’t. It only would have made it all last longer.

And tattoos take long enough as it is.

\---

It’s not the last shock or the last pain of the day, not by far.

He tries not to feel betrayed by Clarke’s cool-headed demeanor, the way she’d talked him through getting the infinity symbol and the Alpha and Omega symbols inked into his skin with calm, clipped tones. It was the smart play, the logical answer, the only choice.

(I got you, for that.)

But, they wear matching wrist bandages to the party welcoming them to Sanctum. Their trauma is, as always, twinned. He doesn’t know yet, how they are considered different. He had gotten rather used to them always being their own group.

All he knows is that she’s a _natblida_ Alpha and he’s an ordinary Omega. But no one will tell him _what that means._

He tries to figure it out, tries to be like her and learn, observe, _see_ something so clearly that he’ll be able to draw it (in his mind’s eye at least; his hands don’t work like hers do with a pencil). But, there’s nothing to see. The Sanctumites treat him and Clarke basically the same. Sure, they address her first and give him odd looks when he tries to speak over her, occasionally, their minds running on parallel tracks, but that may just be a function of their matrilineal society.

The waiters passing around trays of strange foods always serve her first, but if Bellamy’s Greek hasn’t failed him, that makes sense. Alpha is the first, Omega is the last. Maybe that’s all it means.

(But then again, when has his luck ever been that good?)

\---

It happens after they’re given fresh clothes for the party. They’d been content to stroll around in their gear for a while but Russell’s wife had given them both a sour look as soon as she’d happened upon them at the party. Delilah -- one of the nicer villagers who had caught Jordan’s swiftly-wandering eye -- had swiftly taken Clarke aside and explained how much of a stickler for Prime fashion Lady Lightbourne could be. Bellamy had been pulled along for the ride by the girl’s genial father, a talented cook, and given some better clothes as well. He’d come back from changing to find Clarke in a pink dress; for a moment he thought he was hallucinating it, how mismatched it was with her dubious expression.

That’s when he notices the bruises. They’re much darker now, more noticeable than the vague red impressions his hands had left in their immediate wake.

Bellamy approaches her, heedless of the stilted conversation she appears to be having with two men from the new planet. “Clarke,” he cuts in, reaching out as if to touch her neck before drawing his hand back at the last moment, “... I’m so sorry; I can’t believe I did this to you.”

One of the men makes a little scathing, hissing sound, and remarks, “You let your omega do this to you? Women. Teach him a lesson before it’s too late.”

The second man elbows the first as Clarke’s expression goes even more sour than it had been a moment ago -- she even takes a little half-step back. “Give her a break; she doesn’t have a chip yet.”

Clarke exchanges a glance with him at that. _Chip._  Bellamy shivers.

“So?” the first guy asks.

“No chip, no strap, remember?” the second guy replies, gesturing at his own crotch.

 _Strap?_ he thinks. A strap?

(Is that what they’re calling a dick these days?)

His face must show some kind of expression, though, because suddenly he’s being laughed at. The rude stranger is clapping him on the shoulder and then moving his hand down. He slaps Bellamy on the ass, like Murphy did once when he was drunk.

“Don’t worry about it, man. When your heat gets going, you’ll get into it. All you Omegas do, you can’t help yourselves. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, you got a good Alpha here. Hot, blonde, looks like she can fuck for days.”

Clarke drops her hors d’oeuvre plate.


End file.
